The Blackness

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
What if doing the right thing for someone else from a fiery hell actually leads you into a hell in and of itself? Where the only thing that matters is your families touch and attention to make you happy.

Is truly loving someone enough to make them stay with you when life goes downhill?

Submitted: November 22, 2014

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Submitted: November 22, 2014



The Blackness

That’s when it all started. The dreaded day I hope to forget, but I don’t know if I can’t. If only it didn’t happen, I’d be happily sitting at home with my family, watching a movie, or eating dinner. But that’s not possible now.

That day started off like every other day, I woke up at 6, ate cereal at around 6:15, brushed my teeth and showered at 6:30, and got on my motorcycle and left. What happened on my way was the reason everything started to spiral out of my control. On my way to work, route 15 was halted due to construction, so I had to make the hasty decision to take the 209 east freeway to get around this. It was out of my way but still perfectly viable. While riding, I noticed something weird, the driver in a 16 wheeler not too far ahead of me started to swerve. The tires seemed to crush like water melons with a hammer underneath the truck. It took only a second for it to topple, starting a massive domino effect that swallowed up many different kinds of cars, from minis to trucks like they were made of firewood, they burned. I would have never been able to foresee this happening, I don’t think anyone could’ve, but it did.

I was going too fast to be able to react to this properly and before I knew it my front tire veered to the right and my bike started to slide onto its side, flying by without me. I couldn’t think that anything could possibly go right in that moment as my bike flew directly into the back of the truck, which in turn caused the gas that was spewing out of the truck to ignite, exploding it in all directions. One of the multiple blasts that the collision had caused singed off the skin on the back of my right thigh. I still decided to try my best to get up and attempt to help anyone available, even with the immense pain that followed. I slowly limped to the nearest car that had two passengers inside, one unconscious woman and one barely alive with his leg crushed underneath the dash. I quickly but surely helped the unconscious woman out of the wreck and put her about twenty feet away from the car, then rushed to save the man, but sadly he didn’t make it and died from what I would tell as significant blood loss. As I made my way back to help the woman, that same car that I had just left was caught in a last explosion, and I was its unlikely victim.

I awoke, if I could say that, to a white room with the brightest fluorescent light I have ever felt without even being able to see what they actually were. I tried to get up but I couldn’t. My body was not my own to control, my muscles would not respond to my commands. “What is happening?” I asked panicked in my head as if expecting a response that I sensed would never come.

I heard footsteps slowly walk to my room; a particular man in a white coat took one cautious step in. Besides him I can hear the voice of my beautiful wife, Cecilia. But her voice, it was labored, and choppy. She was crying, but why? This is the saddest that I have ever heard her. That must be why before the doctor could say even one word; I knew that what he would say next wasn’t going to turn out good. I tried my best to listen to the next words he was going to say. “Mrs. Davis, I have good news and bad news, what would you like to hear first?” the typical response to lighten the load. “The good would be the best I think” Hearing my wife so broken up like this is just bringing anger and helplessness to my current state of frenzied panic that I can feel my blood boil, even a little. The doctor continued “, the good news is that his brain wasn’t permanently damaged, his memories, relationships, emotions, all that made him what you know him as, will still be the same when he wakes up. The bad news is.. *slight cough*… that we don’t know when he will wake up, it could be an hour, a day, a month, or even a year to many years. I am very sorry; I will leave you with him so you can decide what would be the next course of action. Excuse me.”

Did he just say that they don’t know when I’m going to wake up. Am I in a coma, am I in a state of false illusioned sleep where I am dreaming that I can’t move like sleep paralysis, or do I have shutout syndrome. What is going on? “Oh god, why? Why did this have to happen to you? My poor Alistair, if I knew this would’ve happened, I would have woke up earlier like I normally do, to greet you with the peck on the cheek and the fleeting ‘I love you’ before we parted ways for the day. If only I had woke up earlier to stall you for even a few minutes this wouldn’t have happened.” She tried her best to keep her words stable, and for the most part she did but it didn’t help my emotions going haywire. I was screaming to her in my head even though I knew it was lost to anyone on the outside, “it’s not your fault! It’s not your fault! It’s not your… fault!” To me, she is my rock, my soul light, my world, and right know I can feel it all start to topple from the top to the bottom. All I could hear after that among the sobs, was someone quietly singing “don’t worry be happy.” The only voice that I recognized was the one right next to me, Cecilia. She loved to sing, and I loved her singing. She would sing every day in the garden whenever I came home from work. She had a voice similar to Mary J Blige, and I listened for hours without her even acknowledging my presence. Now she was singing one of my favorite songs to try to wake me up. I couldn’t be happier.

How long have I been here? I began to wonder if it had been days, weeks, or months. Who knows because to me it felt like forever? It’s been a while since my wife left, probably to keep our kids away. The youngest was Melissa, and the oldest was Timothy, 3 and 5 respectively. On the same day the accident happened in the afternoon, my wife decided to bring the kids, but what I heard wasn’t what I had expected or wanted. “Mommy, why isn’t daddy moving? Is he sleeping?” Timothy asked with an estranged look on his face to my wife. “Yes, honey he’s sleeping, and he wo… he won’t be waking up for a while now.” My wife said while trying her best to hold back tears.

“Wake up daddy, wake up. You promised that we would watch ‘Finding Nemo’ once you came home from work, you promised. Wake up… just wake… up.” She couldn’t say anymore before her face started flooding with tears, they started rolling off her cheek and onto my unmoving hand. This isn’t what I wanted when I went to help those people; a man should never let his family cry, ever. After that day I slowly started to hear less and less of my children, but my wife came once in a while to sing and talk about the day. To me, it used to confuse or bore me, but now I know I shouldn’t have taken it for granted before. Now I’ve also began to hear her songs and stories less and less until it seemed to stop all together I’m also starting to lose my vision of what she looked like, her waist length sunshine yellow hair, her deep blue eyes that resemble sapphire, and her christening smile that always brought happiness to anyone who has had the pleasure of seeing it. It was already starting to vanish.

I keep having this reoccurring dream where I am with my family going through my normal routine like always. I get up, eat cereal, brush my teeth, showered, left for work, left work, and went home, over and over again. It made this waiting that much bearable.

Now all I see is that reality where I am with my family. I am starting to question which one is my actual reality. Am I really in a coma at the hospital, or am I back at home where I really belong? Out of nowhere, a familiar voice started to appear again, then it clicked, it was Cecilia. The excitement was there when I realized she had come back, but the voice she was using didn’t sound like normal. The only thing that I could do was to intently listen to the conversation my wife and the doctor were having regarding my status, which then started turning into something unexpected. “He is currently showing signs of waking up soon, the neurons controlling wakefulness have just started firing again, even if a little, it’s an amazing sign. If only he would just wake up” The doctor said with a slight menace in his tone. “Yes, if only he would wake up,” My wife agree with the doctor in a threateningly maniacal tone, the only thing I heard was quick footsteps walking towards my position then all I felt was a blow to the head. My eyes shot open as I reached for the call button.

3 minutes later, a doctor who looked like he’s been running around madly, came through the door. “Yes, Mr. Davis? Do you want me to bump up the milligrams of pain medication?” The doctor said it so fast that it was almost unrecognizable. “How long was I out?” I asked gritting my teeth from shock. “Well, about 3 hours, I would say. Your concussion is going well, so you should be…” I stopped him there. “Concussion… 3 hours… what trick are you playing on me doc?” I said with a mixture of confusion and fury. “You were unconscious even before the ambulance arrived; we took you and the woman beside you to urgent care, as well as anyone else from the wreckage. You were diagnosed with a concussion, burns on 25% of your body, and a broken right arm. That should be it, why do you sound angry?” The doctor seemed more confused than necessary.

“I’m angry because I swear I’ve been in a coma for close to half a year, I’ve heard my wife crying, my kids crying, and my spirit was at its limit.” I said with only sadness readable on my face.

“Sometimes, the mind will make up a worse situation to make the current situation more bearable. For most the brain also takes ‘memories’ and changes them to make it seem as if nothing has happened at all, or shows you your most wanted desires, false memories you could call it.” The doctor explained as well as he could.

“Where are Cecilia, Melissa, and Timothy? I want to see them, tell them they can come in here now.” I told him frantically as if yelling at him to do it.

“The reason I mentioned the false memories you was that the minute you mentioned your family it occurred to me. Mr. Davis, there is no one associated with you named Cecilia, Melissa, and Timothy.”

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